


quilombos élficos: las transgresoras desaventuras de un trolo azul

by ratwhisperer



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-01 21:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratwhisperer/pseuds/ratwhisperer
Summary: once this becomes a coherent fanfic and doesnt start in the middle of the story and is properly revised and corrected etc etc, i will give it a proper summary and title.from an adolescent dunmer nordic coven witch girl to a golden ex-hortator grumpy man with a knack for wacky artesanal work, a heartwarming (?) story about forcing yourself into the world to be heard and respected, of reclaiming yourself from imposed identities and imposed roles, of rebuilding yourself anew to take the weight of the world on your shoulders. cultural shock shenanigans, linguistic messes, trans tears, academic-failing-with-a-shitty-side-job tears, literal rubedo in all planes of existence, god-killing, alteration and mysticism, nice companionship between gentlemen.. and whatever else i manage to shove in despite uni killing me and language barriersdespite what this summary shows, this work actually uses proper (hopefully) punctuation, apostrophes, a better use of english and so on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> since this is entirely unplanned, this begins at the urshilaku caverns. i will be adding the actual beginning once i get round it.
> 
> for mroe stuff, visit nelyn.tumblr.com

Everything kept making him increasingly uncomfortable and tired.

The ash. How dirty he was, how he had not bathed in days. How sore his nose was, threatening to start uncontrollably bleeding again as soon as he made the mistake of lightly scratching it. How his lungs burned, and how weak he felt from eating nothing but ash yams and the few nearly-spoiled kwama from the last provision trip. None of these things put him in a good mood exactly.

Neither did the wind mercilessly hitting his face, that made him feel trapped and lost in the ash storms. His throat also hurt from futilely shouting clear skies in exchange for a couple of miserable minutes of no ash and no wind, while he knew well that his voice could never remotely manage to challenge this land.

And the emotional turbulence that julan carried around like a fire shield around him as well did not help Nelyn feel less tired or overwhelmed. He had blindly dragged his feet across the ashlands, detached from himself, crashing between the bushes to catch some sleep and wake up an hour later covered in ash, barely eating, and somehow managed to make it to the camp in a single, whole piece. 

What managed to drive him forward was pure resolution, willpower that he didn’t know how he still kept after such a draining journey, something that allowed him to shed his own physical inconveniences and ignore the petty squabbles of his companion around him. He certainly did not have peace of mind, boiling on the inside and feeling like the gods were laughing at him, but he was somewhat able to shut it all off, and that’s more than enough for him. He was there to be tested and recognized as the fabled nerevarine, right? Some self-discipline was surely needed in that role, surviving the ashlands would be the easy part.

But the real reason he was there, self-preservation by avoiding execution at imperial hands aside, was because he wanted to see if his own devised back path would work, by consulting with the local wise woman.

 

In any case, he would do anything necessary, he was convinced he was ready to take this burden… He only had the certainty that if the responsibility to rid the land of evil fell upon him, as it seemed lately, he would take it gladly; that was his job back home after all, in a much minor scale at least. The balances of the world must be kept as they are, he feels that responsibility, as he was a mediator between the spiritual and mundane, and the taint he felt in Vvardenfell's air, the corruption spreading through the soil weren't natural at all.

He wasn’t even sure how he managed to persuade the ashlanders to let him speak to their leader in such a state, but the absence of many of his neatly-packed herbs and potions, and how light his drake pouch felt explained it, it could have been divine providence as well, perhaps. Words fell off his mouth, gifts departed from his backpack, restore and fortify personality potions emptied, and Julan stared in silence the whole time. Nelyn couldn’t be bothered to care what he was brewing up, but he knew well he was at his mercy- he could expose him whenever he wanted, yet he did not, and pressing on why could shatter this silence.

Once he managed to meet with the stern leader of the tribe, he was sent away almost right away, without offering him any rest or provisions first, into the tribe’s ancestral tomb to prove his mettle. Nelyn hoped his despair hadn't been too obvious.

 _this was a test, this is an initiation, this is a test, an initiation, necessary, a test_ , he repeated to himself while trying to find the tomb, in clumsy steps, his teeth chattering uncontrollably and cold sweat making his gloves uncomfortable, in spite of the suffocating heat.

Memories of the Andrano tomb kept resurfacing even if he tried to keep them at bay; the spirits mocking him, invading his mind, surrounding him, the ancestor ghost burning his mind and stealing his vital strength, the cries of the forgotten, restless dead at the pits of saint olms’ canton gnawing at him. For a second, he wished to never find the tomb, for another, he wished he hadn’t had to deal with all of this, he wished he had stayed home. But then he snapped back at reality and there was a rough wooden door in front of him, and while he could not read the letters, he knew this was the place.

-You… you’re not possibly doing this, right?

He kept staring at the blurry, shifting symbols engraved carefully in the stone around the door, feeling doom envelop him, too distracted to reply. Julan took the opportunity to start rambling again.

\- This is obviously a trap, not a test… He wouldn’t have sent you to this sacred place, risking you to desecrate their ancestors’ remains and offerings if he was not sure they would kill you first. - he put himself between Nelyn and the entrance.

Now, making him angry or bothering him is an excellent hook to pull nelyn out of the sea of his mind, even if Julan was not yet aware of that in those times.

\- Do… you take me for an idiot? Of course I noticed. - He forced out of himself, still avoiding eye contact, the choked sob in his throat was too obvious for his liking.

\- You know this is not the way, Nelyn - he insisted-, you know well that you have no right to be in a place like this, and that you have no place in this prophecy as an outlander, because the Nerevarine can’t be a damned outlander! Why do you even try and waste the Ashkhan's time?

\- Oh, please enlighten me - he snapped, with a broken voice still, but powered with frustration- on how you, an outcast, will ever manage to bring this into reality if they pretend you don’t exist. Do you realize they prefer to listen and consider an outlander before even acknowledging your presence? At least they give me the choice and an opportunity to die or prove myself, while they bury you in silence!

He pushed Julan out of the way while he went through a face journey, and entered the tomb without hesitation or much thought. The anger flash dissipated at the sight of the mummies and glowing mushrooms, and panic started creeping in again. 

The air was somehow even more oppressive inside than in the raging ash storm, or was he just having trouble to breathe again? He stepped back to the stone walls, holding into them, tracing with clammy hands the patterns, attempting to focus on the sensation and steady his breath. He made it inside, at least, and so far nothing real has happened, only drowning in his mind.

His mental resistance, which was being tested, was ironically his weakest point, and he failed at holding himself together way before stepping into the tombs, ruin-panic bordered on his mind, stalked about.

\- I won’t let you go inside alone, I need to keep an eye on you, wouldn’t let you to desecrate and disrespect this sacred place with your ignorance. - Julan mumbled, hurt showing through his voice. At some point he had entered while nelyn was busy getting even more overwhelmed.

Ignoring the comment, Nelyn started silently descending the rocky path, in spite of all his senses yelling him to turn and run away. He could feel the spirits pressing through the veil, hear their indistinct chatter from chambers deep below and ahead of them, and he couldn’t help but shudder. Soon enough, he would draw their attention, and whenever they did as much as poke his mind, he would melt and lose all control and grasp on reality.

He couldn’t allow himself to think about that, not yet. Clenching and unclenching his fists to ground himself, he kept going down, until he realized it was getting too dark, and cast a light to hover over him.

Right in front of him was a skeleton with a raised axe.

Nelyn was incredibly lucky his magic kicked in as quickly as emotions, and a repulse shield enveloped him. For a split second the world seemed to slow down, Nelyn staring dumbfounded at the struggling axe slowly cleaving through his invisible defenses, until an ally sword suddenly hit the skeleton’s neck. In a blink, it was over.

\- Damn, couldn’t you have cast that sooner!?

Another lucky thing was that his panic of angry spirits limited to actual ghosts- he had discovered the big, dumb ones made of stitched up flesh and skeletons were simply mad spirits, unable to torture him like wraiths did. Still scary, still freaked him out, but they did not threaten him that way. So, the situation was dumb and simple, it had been just a damn skeleton, yet he felt shaken and about to cry already, more from the scare and the fear building up than the actual skeleton.

Deciding the situation was bad enough, he retorted to the sole courage potion in his bag, that he had picked up from some bandit long ago and always forgot to sell. _hah, what kinda coward needs this?_ he had thought then, and, well, it turns out, he was that kind of coward, and desperately needed some control right now, not only to get his task done, but also to not break down pathetically in front of someone who was currently hoping to all the gods that he failed.

A couple of sips was enough, felt like tiny electricity explosions through his head into the air, then gathering into his fingertips, suddenly feeling very restless and more clear-headed. It had been the right amount to be still smartly wary of spirits, and resist the sudden tempting thought of destabilizing julan's spirit by punching him right in the face for all the scowls and stalking he had endured in that trip. He was not exactly calm, but rather, his fear had translated into an itch to get things done and determination, and that's just what he needed.

Back to his senses and surroundings, he looked at the skeletal remains with pity, and lifted his arm to cast a spell, but he hesitated. Would it really be the wisest thing to break the spiritual bonds of the skeleton? It would be unlikely that the spirit would attack him, but the ashlanders would not be happy at all if they discovered an outlander went to their sacred tomb to banish all their venerated ancestors beyond the waiting door, out of pity and cultural sensitivities. Julan had swatted his hand and glared at him before he did anything anyway.

\- At least let me make sure it doesn’t rise up until we leave...

\- We can simply kill it again if that happens, have you thought about that?

_Taking the job of protecting the tomb like one of its thralls very seriously, i see._

They kept descending wordlessly and slowly, now Nelyn’s light hovering a couple meters ahead of them, just in case, and he had his axe in hand, while he attempted to focus. Trying to find the main burial chamber, he stumbled around with his mind-eye as stealthily as he could, trying to focus on their path to ignore the flood of unwanted anxious thoughts.

_Where could the strongest spirit, the former ashkhan, be? Certainly, they had awoken him from his luxury slumber solely for this occasion, as most of the spirits that linger are part of the tomb’s immune system; unpleasant aunts and children who failed to live up to expectations, spirits that did deserve to be stripped of rest and veneration, spirits that deserve to go mad by spending too much time in Earth, unlike their mighty ashkhans!_

 

At least, the current frail emotional balance, provided by doing his usual cantrips and focusing on magic, let him see more than before. Not only confusing clouds of undead whispers, but pathways, doors, guardians, and a bright light somewhere deep within; magical residue and traces of a ritual done recently. Most immediately, they were going to walk into the first burial chamber, home to more mummies and more endless tunnels, guarded by another skeleton, and this time, level-headed, he wouldn't be caught off guard mid-panic.

Still frantically creating light patterns with his left hand behind his shield, he braced himself for a surprise attack, but the skeleton hadn't seen them yet, busy idling, bobbing its head and grinding what was left of its teeth restlessly. Reaching out and connecting briefly with its spirit, he decided to try something new instead of hacking it apart, and carefully _pushed_ its essence outside its boundaries, enough to destabilize the possession and stun the spirit, but not enough to break the binding. The skeleton convulsed and fell apart, its bones still rattling sprawled on the floor, like it was trying to pull itself together. Nelyn didn't need to stay to watch that happen.

He crossed the antechamber and broken bridge in a couple of strides, stepping on the air as if it was solid without even stopping to cast anything- something that still took julan by surprise, he always expected him to fall. Nelyn hurriedly helped him cross -more like, yanked him to the other side- the bridge, and then locked the door behind them with a magic trap.

Julan, obviously ungrateful that he had spared them an unnecessary fight, was ready to accost him, in spite of his silent treatment.

\- Did you just banish that skeleton? Are you insane!? I can't believe you had the guts to DO it you-

\- There's another coming, later - he hushed him-. I don't need to explain my magic to you either.

Julan turned to see the skeleton running towards them, that was cloaked in shadows but the rattling of its bones gave away its distance. But nelyn was already reducing it to a rattling pile of bones, in a rough motion. Push, hook, and pull, he imitated his mind-motions with his hand lifted high in the air, a second in which the skeleton noticed what was going on and staggered, and then it was too late.

He didn't really feel bad for the skeletons, unlike those times where they left their bones broken and charred or corroded; this method both gave the spirit a respite and left it intact, he just needed to overpower the binding enough to bend but not break. Something that julan didn't understand that was happening yet, and was whining about.

Nelyn wondered while Julan returned to pulling his offended act if there was a more irritating creature in this world; Julan took a lot of space in the best of his moods already, but he exuded even more annoying manliness while trying to have arguments or shouting at him, as he _always_ knew better and those huge ears of his were purely for decoration instead of listening. Nelyn just heard static with random, unrelated accusations, sprinkled with dunmeri slurs.

His still-stimulated mind suggested to dunk him into a nearby fluorescent pool of goo headfirst and leave him as a fine offering to the ghosts, but rationality told him to explain reassure instead… as if he could do that in such a resentful mood and on edge, doubting if his stalking companion deserved a proper explanation in the first place.

-…Oh, shut it. I'm just pulling at them enough to knock them out, but not to break the covenant… you wouldn’t get half of it anyway, why bother explaining!

Then Julan gave him that distrustful old lady scowl-stare that looked almost exactly the same as the one Mashti did. He bit back a smile, forgetting for a second how bad things were, between them, and around them.

They walked deeper into the burial, and as Nelyn was more lucid, he realized how far away they actually were from the main congregation of spirits. It turned out that panic is a powerful, and useless, magnifying tool. They reached a flooded chamber, with a particular smell from the fungi both in the water and around the luminescent burial pods. Seeing something tiny and slimy moving into the water, he decided it was best not to come in contact with any of this.

He observed there was more effort in the arrangement of the chamber than in the previous ones, better lighting,  and more remains overall. Spears and shields accompanied the mummies, food and gold left to waste as well, but the mold and mushrooms claimed everything instead of the ancestors. He wondered if it had some significance, if fungi were venerated by the dunmer as messengers between the Earth and the void or something similar. Still, it surprised him they left the mummies amidst all this humidity and fungal mess; very few were in acceptable conditions.

_More post-mortem torture for living sins?_

Some spirits slowly left their vessels to inspect the intruders, but they were very quiet and small, their whispers weak and almost inaudible; he guessed they were almost forgotten or something of the sort. Hostile or not, they still made Nelyn's hair stand on end, and he kept leaping away, eyes locked on the exit upward. He couldn’t appreciate it at the moment, but the experience he had been having in the Urshilaku burials was being much different from the Andrano tomb.

They reached a hub of some sorts; a large rock formation from which small cascades formed and stony platforms and mushrooms poked out, decorated with even more dead bodies and offerings of all sorts, more than in the previous burial chamber. An eroded, thin stony path spiraled upwards around it, seemingly supported by nothing, connecting the various burials.

The effects of the potion were starting to fade away and anxiety started coming back, so he took a couple of sips before ascending, feeling somewhat ashamed.

_It wasn't like this before, I could face the worst out there in the forest, I even resisted a demon trying to possess me and banished it… and now I have nervous attacks over this? The halls of the dead back at home didn't make me remotely as anguished as this, but at the same time, they weren't filled with ghosts or flesh amalgams trying to kill me._

He followed the lingering traces of the magic of the last living person to come in there, carefully stepping on the thin path, balancing.

_and still I could wade through spirits and get rid of hostile wraiths and ghosts without the help of any stupid potion then, what is wrong with me?_

Stopping at every door, he would close his eyes and wander beyond.

This situation reminded him of that time that one of the elder witches, Gyda, once told him to stop taking sleep-numbing potions. Naturally, he was angry, how could she think she had an authority estimating how much he needed them? How could she know how much he struggled with constantly seeing all these dead people and magical corruption and how tiring it was to constantly listen to spiritual residue?

_All you'll achieve from that is a blackened liver and a dead dumbed-down brain before twenty. There are better ways to deal with this than filling yourself up with poisons. Don't let chances to learn go to stay in complacency and comfort, limiting your potential._

Harsh, harsh words to hear when you're just fifteen and desperate, and your whole world hangs on what your superiors say and think. Of course they took alchemy privileges away from him after they saw his lack of initiative, for his own good. He was still not sure whether it was the right course of action or not, because the strict control helped him not become too resistant to the effects or go too far with his dose, and made him create lighter and less harmful recipes. At the same time, he was damn sure some troubles just don't fade away by willing it, and sometimes pulling yourself together is more important than some distant growth. He still took potions and teas, in his bad days, after all.

Or at least, that's how he justified his current course of action to himself.

_A couple of sips does not condemn for eternity, damn it, stop overthinking._

Distracted by his thoughts, he forgot to step carefully and slipped on the wet rock with a yelp. Someone else behind him yelped too.

Just like we immediately try to hold on something and try to use every inch to avoid falling, magic was another muscle that acted on reflex, without command. He was paralyzed awkwardly, mid air, back facing the distant ground, none of his feet on the platform, as if someone just froze him in time. His blinking and breathing were proof he was neither, rather startled and confused instead.

Julan withdrew the hand he had extended as a reflex before Nelyn started to shakily get back to his feet and collected himself. But Nelyn wouldn't forget that look of alarm, then how he tried to play it cool like a dumbass once he realized he was not in mortal danger, and that he _cared_ about that. He almost smiled.

_After all, you don't want to see me fail that much, huh._

 

 

This was it. He could feel the embers of a ritual still lingering deep inside, beyond the door; the real test awaited there, as he could make out other bright lights inside, fluttering about and flickering… and they all abruptly stopped, unnaturally still, slowly turning around to face where he was, their gazes burning on him. He flinched away from the door with a gasp, almost tripping.

They knew he was there, he had been too obvious, poked around too much. Nausea and panic flooded him at the same time, unpleasant memories washed ashore as alarm rose and he began shutting down again, running his fingers through his hair frantically, eyes glassy.

Julan looked at him and then at the door with an alarmed expression (still attempting to look unconcerned for Nelyn), unsheathing his sword again; even if he couldn't see what was going on, he knew something was about to go wrong.

Nelyn kept struggling, adrift in his thoughts and conflicting memories and sensations, the spirits pressing through, their mocking laughter distant. Amidst the assault of memories and sensations, he remembered the potion, for which he scrambled in his belt with clumsy, shaky fingers, and drank all that was left in one go.

It didn't clear his head at all, still upset, but swarming with the energy of many suns past rationality, his thoughts tangled and restless. He kicked the door to open it, but to his surprise, his leg simply phased through it. Not being able to care too much about his immateriality, he passed through completely.

The first wraith he came across to filled him with such unexplainable anger and hate that he threw his axe to it, with no regards to the damage he was receiving. He could feel the spirit trying to enter his mind, and it did achieve that, but Nelyn had long ago retreated very deep within, and the vessel keep cleaving at it. It felt just like those countless tales of people burning their farms and cities before the invaders can get them.

The few next ones, he popped out of existence as he rediscovered he could mold magic into reality, or reality into magic. In proper academic wording, he casted burden spells on them, but to him, simple as in life as in magic, it just felt like popping pimples.

As he drew closer to the blinding light, the rallying effect started to fade and fear flooding in. hands twitching. Static and silence slowly replaced by thoughts, worried thoughts, panicked thoughts, while he dragged his feet towards the inevitable. Flickering layers and layers of translucent magic enveloped him, pulsing along his own inner rhythm. Running his fingers over the rusty patterns on the unearthed metal walls, becoming aware of his surroundings, aware of the slime covering his axe and gauntlets splashed over his armor, aware of Julan walking behind him cautiously, aware of his own failure.

Before he could even make out the edges of the ashkhan's mummified corpse in the darkness, a huge spirit emerged out of it; a mass of ghostly silk, silent wind chimes and beads hanging from the edges, revealed a heavily marked face contorted with contempt, ran over by dots and lines, ceremonial scarring and battle scars. He called forth more wraiths by raising his bony hands, whose shapes were not as solid and formed as his; Nelyn would later deduce it was due to the amount of worship he received in contrast with the older residents, but as for this moment, he was frozen in panic, with hairs standing on end.

The atmosphere changed immediately, a feeling akin to humid days back at his home; unstoppable cold seeping into his bones, no matter how well sheltered and wrapped up he was. The presence of the ghosts felt like just like that, but it was souls taking up every inch of the chamber, making it harder to breathe, like cobwebs in his lungs. His teeth started chattering. Julan seemed composed and unaffected from it, at least in comparison to Nelyn.

A spirit hissed words to the Ashkhan, and to his surprise, he could understand them all.

\- Look at this coward n'wah, she brought another stranger for help! And he is not even marked for trial!

\- How soft have you been with your kin in life, Senipul, that they're willing to initiate random settled outsiders without consulting with us first! - scolded a faint in image, but loud ancient spirit that had not joined the others crowding Nelyn, watching from behind.

Many other wraiths joined the bickering, but Nelyn was getting too overwhelmed by his own mind to make out what they were whispering anymore, struggling to not drop his axe with his shaky hand.

_If I'm quick enough, I could fetch the bow and get out of here. I have to focus, they are not paying attention to me yet, they are not attacking me yet, I have to use this chance._

_And fail the test?  Could you still hold your chin high, offering the bow to the ashkhan knowing you ran away? They would tell him and the wise woman, in their dreams or however dunmer communicate with their ancestors, and you're done for._

\- Enough!

Sul-Senipul banished some of the ancestors with his shout, and the rest stood still, quiet, awaiting for his order.

_If only I had another potion…_

A fireball suddenly exploded in his face, dissolving a layer of his protective shield, and the spirits circled close around him, struggling against his spell, blocking Julan out. Nelyn flailed his axe in dismay, seeing how it didn't affect the spirits.

_But I've just used it against the others! and it worked!_

The wraiths had begun to puncture his defenses, reaching out with their ghostly hands, as if they wanted to caress him, stealing his life away from him instead, their fingers dipping in his mind. Julan shouted, far away, across what felt like a sea of ghosts enveloping Nelyn, his words drowning out, echoes he couldn't make out. Drained and weak, he fell to his knees, then crumbled to the floor. The worst part is that he wasn't even numbed down, fully conscious of how his energy was siphoned away from him with cold whispers, horrified, helpless.

As he relived his horror and went through his worst fear, he discovered that once one hits the apparent rock bottom, it doesn't feel remotely like the countless useless scares before that. Ice cold spreading through his chest like he'd just fallen into lake Yorgrim again.

Stripped away of the bare dignity of defending himself, of having control over his actions, he lay on the ground, eyes wide open, overcome with despair. He wasn't shutting down in panic, he was staying conscious, no matter how insignificant it looked, witnessing his own failing through a veil of outraged tears.

He was desperately holding on a budding sensation, like a thread. It was indignation, anger, blooming in his chest; a source of energy barely tapped into, the will to live. He can only get so much suffering before snapping back to rightful anger, after all.

_i won't go down like this, you won't get me like this_

He dug his fingers in the dirt, clenching his teeth, determined to reclaim himself with the last of his strength, tears still rolling down his face.

_I don't deserve this. this shouldn't be happening. you lot don't even deserve getting near me. you don't deserve taking my life away from me._

The thoughts started being louder than the mocking and whispers of the ghosts and they were shaped like weapons.  Whatever this sensation was becoming, it was beyond anger, this was not a mindless berserk state; it felt like he was taking little scraps of himself into a bigger form, turning his thoughts into armor and weapons, shaping himself again to stand strong, pushing everything foreign to him away. The intruders receded.

_you don't have the right to put your fingers inside my head. how dare you. how dare you how dare you_

He pushed himself away from the dirt, on his knees, fighting against the swarm of spirits attempting to crush him into the ground again.They tried and tried to invade him again, but he was impervious, wrapped anew by shields, this time powered by something else. He rose to his feet as he pushed the spirits away from him, away to the walls, away into the walls, away past the walls and everything tangible nearby.

It felt like something huge unlocked inside him, filled him with such energy and life he had never before, that felt much more authentic and real than what the potion had provided. Somehow, he had the feeling he could open the ceiling with a little tug of his mind and fly away, that he could just rip open the skies and victoriously shout into the nothingness… and distracted by his temporal victory, he forgot he was only emptily staring through an angry ashkhan in that moment, struggling to keep standing.

A burst of force sent him flying to the wall, the impact knocking the air out of him. He fell to the floor, too dizzy and exhausted to stand up again, and watched how Julan fought the Ashkhan. His companion used the very spells he had taught him, some copied movements, a sprinkle of Nordic logic staining his Ashlander technique, and he found that somewhat bittersweet.

_you're gonna hate me forever for ruining your childhood dream, but I think it'll take even longer than that for you to get rid of all of that._

The fight didn't take long. Julan picked up the bow among the ashes and observed it for what felt too long, running his fingers over the engravings and markings, shadows crossing his face, like he was brewing up some unexpected plan. Various things crossed Nelyn's head: that he was going to kill him and present the bow to the Urshilaku to get that sweet acceptance he longed for, that he was going to destroy the bow and all chances for Nelyn to interact with the tribe ever again, that he was simply going to walk away to leave him to die, among other far-fetched illogical thoughts that were sinking him into despair again and making him even dizzier.

\- Well, I failed the test, didn't I…

His voice came out as thin and weak as a thread, croaky and high. That was a lot of questions, and a plead, done with the little energy he had left. Julan snapped out of it and avoided his gaze, guilt shadowing across his face, then he somewhat reluctantly walked towards Nelyn, with a hint of shame.

\- Um, I think this is what you were looking for.

He handed him the bow, and Nelyn slowly lifted an arm from the floor, then seeing he wasn't grabbing it, Julan awkwardly tried to fit the bow into his hand. Nelyn swatted it.

\- No, you dumbass, can't you see I can't stand up? Help me.

\- Oh, right, sorry!

And he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and helped him up on reflex, forgetting again the grudge he was attempting to hold. They were both a bit taken aback at the familiarity of the gesture, after a week of hostility and stalking, but they still wordlessly walked out of the cave together.

On the way back to the camp and back on his own feet, Nelyn concluded that the mess that happened inside there should be considered as an absolute victory. At least the silence was comfortable again.


	2. Chapter 2

On the way back, they were met with incredulous stares from a band of young Urshilaku boys, and hunters who were much less reserved about their disgust, somehow.  _Their last chance to show spite before I get accepted as a guest_ , Nelyn thought when he saw one spit into the ash without breaking eye contact.

He tried his best to not use the ancient bow as a cane and walked on, despite his body telling him to just lie down and take a nap forever. Julan’s healing was certainly repairing and got rid from the bruises and slight burns, but tiredness and all the soul-drain he suffered couldn’t be cured with anything else but a hearty stew and a good night’s sleep. For now, he would drag his feet forward and deliver the bow before anything else, knowing that Julan would at least have the basic decency catch him if he fainted this time.

The sun was close to setting, but feeling victorious, the threats of the night didn’t matter much to him in that moment. Despite feeling lightheaded, dizzy, he was keenly aware of his surroundings; it might be the penetrating silence, compared to the previous days of relentless wind and ashstorms hitting his ears.

Nelyn coughed weakly in his handkerchief, which was actually some torn shirt he was given in the boat to Vvardenfell, that used to be of a yellowish white, and now irreparably bloodstained. Covering his mouth and nose, he hoped not to get yet another uncontrollable nosebleed. Julan was obviously unscathed; the usual weather barely bothered him, and only covered up on blight days.

Ash was suspended in the air, but there was no wind to wash it away, and everything around them was blurred with thick coats of grey. In the distance, he could hear the wails of wild silt striders, so similar to whales back home, yet becoming increasingly familiar on their own.

He hoped he didn’t forget what whales sound like.

He had the feeling it would never be the right time to be home. Before, it was because the work was fun, then not having seen the south yet, then not having gone east yet, then not enough money to return, then being forced to work for an imperial spy… What would be the next excuse, once he was freed from this particular circumstance?

As far as it seemed, fulfilling prophecies (curses) was currently on the horizon, along an Ashlander camp.

 

 

Nelyn usually liked it when Julan just stayed quiet when he’d screw up, let the anger slide out quietly, understand each other in silence and simply move on. Otherwise, he couldn’t guarantee that It would not end up in yelling and eventually, angry tears on his part. But his friend had the uncomfortable habit of wanting to always talk things through and voice his worries, and when he didn’t, he wore his nerves around him like a swarm of wasps haunting him, that also stung Nelyn. And annoyed him.

He had to admit to himself that he couldn’t just let this one slide off, either. Mostly relieved of being in normal terms at least, and he looked at the positive side, yet there was anger bubbling up in the back, heavy and deep inside, worse than most of the dumb things they had quarreled about until then. It would weigh on him soon enough.

The trip was feeling infinite. Julan’s guilt was almost becoming solid around him at that point, and how he pointlessly looked around, pretending to be interested in rocks, or looking for sudden movement, and how he was hesitant to walk at Nelyn’s side was really annoying him.

\- I was thinking…

\- Oh, so you can think… Astonishing, I never believed you were capable of that –which was his usual reply to his usual empty starter for rambles, but instead of being a tease, it came off too languid, like he was peeved.

\- Hey, I’m trying to… to apologize here, let me finish!

Nelyn was too tired, exhausted to the bone to combat him anyway, so he let him, clenching his jaw. This was a way to take advantage of the situation, he thought, and wondered whether Julan also reflected on his own wrongdoings out loud to him when he was unconscious, taking advantage he couldn’t bite back.

-          So, um… Now that I think about it, I would have done the same had I been in your place, I mean, being forced to cooperate with the Empire when you arrived, you’re not really sympathizing with them. First, I thought you did it willingly because I was too angry, but now I realize… it wasn’t really your fault and you didn’t mean it, right? So-

He turned around to face him. Now, that was outrageous and insulting enough to pull him from his tired, forced peace of mind. Implying he would ever willingly work for an Imperial agent? He thought Julan knew him better than that.

-          Of course I didn’t “mean” it! Were you even awake all those times I told you how has the Empire pillaged and taken over my homeland, all those times where we complained about it together…? Did you really all of that was false? Did you really think it was all some masterfully crafted plan to trick personally you!? I’m fucking horrible at pretending and you know it! My cover, which is basically my true self, is a joke and nobody in Balmora trusts me! I don’t want to be a spy! – his tone increased with his emotions, dangerously disrupting the silence of the ashy plains.

-          I’m not saying that, but how could have I known! Let me finish-When I found out you were a spy, everything fell apart and I couldn’t think straight… I had no way to know if you were truly the person I knew, I was too angry to remember and think through, I felt like an idiot. And now I feel stupid too, because it was all a mistake and misunderstanding!

-          Are you done pitying yourself? if you had stopped two seconds to listen to me outside of Balmora, to maybe think about me and all the shit I have to go through instead of acting like a deranged idiot for a week… -he nervously ran his hand through his hair- Do you think this is not humiliating, infuriating for me? If I desert, he’ll kill me. I can’t go back, I can’t escape, my life is at his hands- just because I accidentally got mixed in some stupid protest and deported!  Did I really deserve all of that, the stalking, the hate… when did I even wrong you?

Julan looked down, away, clenching his fists.

-          I know, I know I’ve been a big idiot! I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say, I don’t know why I did that, just… Can you forgive me? I just want things to be the same as before, train and fight, and stuff…

_Should I tell him about how scared was I in those nights at Ald’ruhn and Maar Gaan, that I placed glyphs on the doors to my room to trap and lock them, that I couldn’t shut an eye because I was afraid he’d come in drunk and kill me or do worse… but he wouldn’t handle the guilt of knowing, would he. He absorbs it, makes it a tumor inside him and lets himself be gnawed alive by it instead of doing something about it._

_But what did we say about coddling him, again?_

Nelyn sighed and lowered his head, looking for his eyes, consciously releasing his tension with a breath _._ This whole situation was just too much.

-          Listen, forgiveness is useless and not what we need. I can give you more chances, and I will, and we’ll move on because you’re my only friend and shield-brother in his godsforsaken island and I’m stuck with you, and I value you, but you need to just… compromise and never do that again.

He bit his lip, feeling like such a terrible hypocrite. He knew that if he were in Julan’s place, he would have done worse, killed someone if they attempted to rob him of all he knew, of his path and destiny.

-          You know, I do trust you, but I can’t just brush it off. I hear you saying you were too angry, that you were out of control… if you were truly out of your mind and unconscious, you could have killed me or done something worse. You simply chose to let yourself act on your anger, you were fully conscious,  but you only stopped when you thought in depth, when you started getting guilty… you hurt me without thinking twice. Knowing you were capable to stalk me, make me feel completely unsafe, break my trust and forget about our friendship because of something completely outside my control is something heavy. You need to solve that yourself and prove you would never do that again, my forgiveness will be in vain if you don’t.

Nelyn felt like ash had gotten inside his skull, like mist clouding his thoughts, draining him, spreading inside his mouth, making his tongue heavy. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself. At this point, he wasn’t sure he was scolding himself or Julan, both of them equally guilty.

 -         Thank you, for giving me another shot despite being a major asshole, - he said with sincerity- I promise I'll make it up to you, somehow. It's true I can get very carried away when it comes to my mission, and I need to work on that, at least stop hurting good friends blindly over it.

There was really no solution to this, no right party, no boasting about being the right one; he could see the lingering question, the last uncomfortable unresolved problem, and how it would drive them to explosions and tear them apart every time. He shook his head, trying to get a hold of himself and took Julan’s hands on his own, softly.

-          It doesn’t matter anymore, past is past, history forgets itself, we go on… We will do this Nerevarine bullshit together, whether it’s by prophecies or spying or not or if we fail them or not, I’m not giving up on this, I will not give up on you either. To the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter whether we are currently spies, ashlanders, nerevarines or adventurers… destiny goes on, and we should be grateful we get to do something about this, in this age and time.

His friend looked at him, understanding yet still hurt, let down. An offer, an unspoken pact;  _we either move forward without fighting, pretend things are alright, or drift apart and lose our ways._ And he was well aware it wasn’t an answer that would satisfy either of them; in time, they would clash again. They had too much pride and ambition to be selfless for the other’s sake, or at least Nelyn thought that.

 

* * *

 

The chatter and laughter could be heard from the entrances to the camp, even. When Nelyn entered the yurt, Sul-Matuul was caught off guard playing some kind of board game with his gulakhans, who were smoking something spicy and foul that was an attack on his delicate Nord nose. The atmosphere fell apart as the mer collected themselves, a couple visibly disappointed of his return, the rest barely betraying any emotion, but it was clear then; they sent him never to return, and now that came back to bite their pride.

There were a few things Ashlanders and hedge witches had in common; that smiles were not given freely out of courtesy as they are shallow and fake, and that they hated prideful ignorant outsiders. And Nelyn was most tempted to smile and be insufferable in that moment, but he was smarter than that, thankfully.

-          I see you return with my father’s bow, so, you passed the harrowing.

To his surprise, he nodded, looking slightly impressed, exchanged looks with his gulakhans and Nelyn could almost hear the unspoken “Not bad for some random n'wah, my guys, don’t you think?” and feel how Zabamund smugly took some coins and baubles off the hearthrug from the khan’s side and put them smugly into his bag. Sul-Matuul pretended he didn’t lose any bet and continued.

-          I name you, Ymir the Witch, a Clanfriend of the Urshilaku. Keep my father’s bow and bear it with honor.

_ah, how do I tell him the thrice-cursed outcast will probably be the one using it. this is anxiety-inducing. why are you giving me an ancient bow of your people_

-          You are a friend of our tribe and may rest in any Urshilaku yurt, but do not harm other tribe members, or take their things. And now I will fulfill my other promise. Go to the wise woman’s yurt, and Nibani Maesa shall examine you, and test you against the Nerevarine prophecies.

\- Thank you for having given me this opportunity and honor. I will take my leave now and go to the wise woman, with your permission, so I bid you all safe dreams, and I hope your hearths last through the night.

Nordic politeness always sounded weird to city dunmer, because situations where being over-polite were rare in the first place, but Ashlanders were less taken aback by it than them, as the intention is what counts.

-          One more thing, Clanfriend, before you see Nibani Maesa.

He turned back almost immediately.

-          I want to speak plainly, since you are now a Clanfriend. I find it very hard to believe you are the Nerevarine.

Seconding his opinion, his gulakhans turned to see him with the same stern face the askhan had, making sure Nelyn didn’t forget his place.

-          You are an outlander, but the Nerevarine comes to drive all outlanders from Morrowind. How could an outlander be the Incarnate? -he furrowed his brow- The Great Houses stole our lands and mocked us with false gods. The godless outlanders steal our land and our dignity. The Nerevarine is the last hope the Ashlanders have. I will let no outlander steal this hope from us.

These are serious words, Ymir the Witch, -he continued- words of life and death. I have welcomed you as a Clanfriend, but take care what you say and do in the name of the Nerevarine.

Nelyn inhaled deeply, and looked down for a moment, thinking his words over and over, patching up and smoothing any rough edges that could puncture the fragile peace. The Ashkhan was about to dismiss him when he started, with a clear, strong but calm voice.

-          I will also speak plainly. I don’t mean to steal hope or bring any harm to your people, instead, I… want to help. My path so far has all led me here, and as a spirit-healer and seer, I can’t turn a blind eye to the suffering the blights and corruption the Sharmat has brought to this land.

If this prophecy turns out to not be my path… I will find another way to help. But still, checking won’t hurt anybody, and at most, saves time for all of us, at least –he broke away eye contact.

The Ashkhan rested his chin on his rough, marked hands, pensive, then he dismissed him with a hand gesture.

-          I can sense truth and honor in you and your words… and this is why I send you to the wise woman, she knows the lore of blights and soul sicknesses, perhaps she can guide you in that regard as well. Go, go, before it gets too dark and she goes to sleep.

Julan was waiting for him, eavesdropping outside the tent, with that particular look on his face he had since the burials. Something like understanding, perhaps, softer eyes, the wound was still tender for both of them. It was a relief, better than carrying a heavy silence or hatred again. 

-          Congratulations on being named Clanfriend, that’s a really high honor for a complete outsider… you’ll go to the Wise Woman now, right?

-          Yeah, then we’ll go back to Ald’ruhn- I mean, if you want – he muttered.

His friend looked away, scratching the back of his head. Nelyn wondered if it was still too early for them to become a “we” again.


	3. Chapter 3

By when Nelyn had exited the yurt, most already had dinner and were about to sleep. Witches are known to be too absorbed by the spiritual to tend to their own earthly vessels, and both Nibani and him were proof of that. For some reason, he felt immediately at home inside that yurt, with all the drapery, scattered bottles, plants drying hanging from rope, and incense; the lulling storytelling, how Nibani knit her stories and words into great works of art… it reminded him of the coven. There was some solidarity, even familiarity between them, as they knew they were the same; mysticists, soul-tenders, keepers of the earth.  Perhaps, in different circumstances, they could have been friends and equals.

It had ignited new hopes in him, despite being denied and his backpath-plan rejected and scrapped- the possibility of “becoming” spoke to him. Change felt imminent in him anyway, something he needed to strive for, a path he had already started, and becoming someone new and taking a new role was extremely tempting. He imagined himself, being known as Nelyn, a man uniting and waking up a nation, working towards helping them free themselves from Imperial invaders and the Blight… it felt like a fantasy, something he could only daydream about. He could finally make his existence worthwhile, have a greater purpose, help the earth directly as he always wanted, make it better. An opportunity to do his job, basically, but in a greater scale.

So far, all the stars had directed him in this path, and his heart’s desire was to do as much good as he could, so why not follow it on his own will? Why not change, why not solidify himself into someone new?

He turned to Julan, unable to disguise his happiness and hope, the glimmer in his eyes that had been missing for days. The other one was taken aback, skeptic.

-          So, what did she say?                        

-          That I am not, but I might become Nerevarine, and that’s more, more, much more than enough for me. If I fulfill all the prophecies, that is…

-          So you aren't -he quickly said-, prophecies don't mean much, they’re made so anyone fits that description. Well, no surprise there, we should go back and… do stuff, some adventuring?

Nelyn clenched his jaw. In this matter, his friend would always stop being a friend and become a wall. Pushing it might break the frail peace that they had achieved, and at the same time, he was aware this was more important than feeding delusions.

-          The Wise Woman requested me to find some lost Nerevarine prophecies; we'll work on that now. I have some ideas, maybe Mehra Milo can help us with that.

-          Bah, they probably don’t even exist, -he scoffed-, or are made up, you know we don't write our stories down anyway, it would be a waste of time.

-          Julan. Hello. Stop. You don't get to tell me what's a waste of time or not, I do what I want here, if you don’t feel like it, then don't come. Well, since you stalked me like a freak for a week, I think it's pointless to tell you anyway!

Julan opened his mouth to reply, but he talked over him. Too late, Nelyn's accumulated tension over the last week was spilling again. Freshly established peace was thrown away.

-          Also, shame on you! Always going on about your people and history and stuff, but when it comes to actually help them recover their past or do some small task like this to please a leader, you get real stupid dumb, like some brat!

-          Shut it! If those stories are lost, they are for a reason, and it's not like the Temple cares enough to do anything but destroy them in any case! Why would they have them secretly stored?

-          Well, you know they had a copy of Progress Of Truth at the library. Also, who are you to refuse a task given by a Wise Woman herself? Maybe you were born from a rock and raised by rocks instead of Velothi after all!

The unstealthy bickering attracted a small audience, which of course was tending to their own and apparently busy while eavesdropping. Dunmer first, Ashlanders second; being nosy was in their blood, naturally. Nelyn noticed, and lowered his voice.

-          Haven't you thought there might be something key in those lost prophecies? How to kill Dagoth Ur? A revelation to cure corprus or something? Or sure, you could just go up Red Mountain and hoping you can magically kill a god by waving a shiny stick around, like a dull-head! – he illustrated his point by bonking himself on the head.

-          And what, do you think anything you do matters, when you're not the real Nerevarine here? You're an outlander, you can't be the Nerevarine no matter what some stupid lost prophecies say or how hard you lie to yourself and others! You will never be the one! – he blurted.

Nelyn could think a lot of hurtful things to say, absorbed in his anger, but some sense came back to him. Righteous and justified his feelings were, but Julan also believed he was right and just; best way to stop it, was to become a mirror, be neutral, expose the anger and let it all evaporate. He shot him a stern look instead of replying, letting silence settle in, which made Julan even more frustrated, because he understood following the orders was the logical thing to do, and most importantly, he noticed he was making him look ridiculous.

-          Ugh, fine, whatever, let’s go for those fetching prophecies… what can we lose, anyway.

-          Can you Almisivi-intervene us, please? – he requested, sounding as neutrally as he could.

Nelyn regretted not being able to stay the night and socialize more with the Ashlanders, possibly offending them, but the thought of having to share tent with some stranger made his skin crawl. It’d be better to just spend the night at the city, have some hearty stew and finally sleep the exhaustion off, than keep worrying his brains out about etiquette and not coming off too strange.

Julan, still looking disturbed, reluctantly casted the spell, with blunter motions than usual, and the magic stung. Someone looked like he was going to waste all his loot-gold on drink again, and he wasn't in the mood to talk him out of it.

\--

Doing his best to untangle his almost-moldy hair, Nelyn sat in a bathtub that was too small for him. For various months he had been thinking to just chop it all off, both for practicality and presentation; men in Morrowind also had long hair, he had found out, but short hairstyles were the trend and overall more popular. Without access to his homemade lotions and not enough money for new ones, his hair was an absolute disaster whenever he went; it smelled like a personal swamp if he hung out for too long in those eastern zones, or got horrible clumps of matter hair in the Ashlands like in that moment. He could grow it out fast in the case he regretted it, but, it was really difficult to let go of years of spending so much love and care on a mane.

Despite his scalp screaming and being surrounded by already dirty water, he attempted to enjoy the moment; safe and sound, belly full (nevermind how empty his coin pouch felt), a glyph on his door just in case tried to barge in, and Julan, even if he was insufferably grumpy and getting wasted at that moment, didn’t want him to die anymore. Things were okay, for the first time in a couple of weeks, and he had his own safe space to be left to his own thoughts.

Julan's accusations and insults still poked at him. It was still infuriating how badly he treated him, how he _stalked_ him, the slurs he threw at him without thinking twice… the smartest thing to do was to forgive him, in any case. What would he do without him? He couldn't survive out there without him yet, he'd be terribly lost, in more danger, and lonely, and he didn't feel like running back to the Mages Guild for support like a coward. He also felt some kind of strange responsibility over Julan, like it was also his job to save him from his stupidity and impulsiveness and help him get better. Whether he did his best and put up with it all was because of feeling stuck with him and dependant or because he did it out of friendship was uncertain to him.

Well, as long as it didn't arise shitty situations like the last one, it would be alright. They still had fun and they were still good teammates, they were reliable and trusted each other, and they had much to teach each other. As long as he didn't remember, as long as they didn't bring those things up, as long as he let every grudge go, things would be good. Julan was the kind to pile up resentment like his life depended on it, resilient to change, so was he; someone needed to make an effort here. He wondered if things would even be the same, after all this discovering he was spying mess.

He had a feeling the whole imperial spy thing wasn’t going to last long enough anyway, that he and Julan would find other ways without needing Caius’ leads and orders. For now, he would go back to that horrible city and get some sweet reward money to not starve, then he would allow himself to think what to do next. Freedom of choice felt a bit overwhelming.

Faking a new identity was a way out of forced service, he was aware assuming himself as a man to everyone was something he could actually do. Go by his chosen name, shave his hair off, bind his chest tighter and try to speak lower was a possibility at the reach of his hands. Never mind that no matter how hard he mangled himself or somehow succeeded to make his squeaky voice acceptable, he was still pretty noticeable; few huge blue halflings with cross-dressing tendencies were out there, and if anyone tried, tracing him back to Seyda Neen was not difficult.

His mind started sinking into the details, the things he couldn't change, which were way too many, and that now-familiar feeling of a hollow in his chest started creeping in. Words from a loved one suddenly stabbed his memory; _Nothing you can do about it, what's the point, are you going to drive yourself to such insanity that you'll someday end up with a blade in your chest, dying from an infection?_

He shook his head, stood up suddenly, and decided to just sleep it off, as usual. Dressing in his sleep-clothes, which looked like an absolutely normal everyday outfit, he went to sleep. The luxury of being clean, of a warm bath, of being well-fed, and sleeping in clean sheets was something that he rarely had over the last two years, and it made all problems melt away. It also made him forget he was locking Julan out.

 

* * *

 

He was floating in the dark, surrounded by pure noise, something like a rumble, a beat, too muffled to identify, that got louder and louder, and other new sounds sprung from it, entwining and making the picture clearer and clearer… Screaming, and a loud kick on his door woke him fully, and something being dragged away from his door.

He fumbled for his axe in the dark and rushed to the door’s side. It was way too early, light didn’t come through the tiny ventilation holes; something was happening.

-          Get that idiot out of here!

-          Watch out, he might, he might have corprus!

That was Julan, he could recognize his voice from the shouting. More broken dishes, loud smacks and yelling. Nelyn went out.

A drooling dunmer man with ragged clothes, a club in hand and multiple wounds was stumbling around, leaving blood trails. He was surrounded by armed cornerclub attendants, some in their underwear and others still drunk barely standing, holding chairs or other things. There were wounded mer, someone bleeding on the floor, and Julan was there, unscathed.

Suddenly the man stood upright and tight, looking at everyone with twitchy, milky eyes, making one of the most unnatural, disturbing smiles Nelyn had ever seen. In the light, he could notice the scabs all over his skin.

-          The time is come! You stand in the ancestral homeland of the Tribe Unmourned, and you turn us away, refuse to help our noble cause and scorn us like your forefathers! This city will burn, and from the ashes, we will rebuild; you still have time, you can still –his voice and demeanor suddenly broke, revealing a strangely confused, panicked man- run away, please get out before, before they come, oh gods-

He suddenly screamed and backed away into the wall, gripping his head and digging his fingers into it, dropping his club. Someone threw another bottle at him, and another, and he was left whimpering on the floor.

Six guards came in, with spears and swords ready. The innkeeper explained the situation to one, while the others dragged the madman out, and carried the wounded victim. Nelyn stared at the situation dumbfounded, and approached Julan, who was just as distraught.

-          We all were just having fun and this… this s’wit just came in and… started preaching, and he hit that one pretty badly on the head, then we were all… he was crazy, trying to kill us! I think, I think I heard him say Dagoth. Shit, this is bad. –he was rubbing his forehead, fumbling.

Nelyn put his arm around him and led him away from the mess, into their room. He helped Julan lie down on his bed, and placed two glyphs more on the door. Nelyn was shivering; he had a terrible feeling, a terrible, terrible one.

-          We are not leaving this place until we find out what’s happening… or find a way to stop it, before it happens.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning came, most evidence of the night’s episode was scrubbed off and cleaned up, but there was still a tension; almost no one had a restful sleep as well, the inn staff was particularly stiff and unwelcoming for obvious, understandable reasons, and there were still shapes, odd empty spaces without chairs or tables where fighting had taken place and were still not concealed.

They went to fetch breakfast later than anybody else, and by that time, the innkeeper was likely sick of discussing the subject and was too worried about how she was going to replace the broken furniture and stained rugs, so they just took their small breakfast in without pressing the issue. In the meantime, Nelyn evaluated their options.

-          We could go around asking who that guy was, maybe we end up tracking down a base nearby, or even inside this town… that’d be tough.  
-          Or interrogate him ourselves, but probably we won’t be allowed. At least, ask the guard for details, I’m sure they don’t hate us that much, we’re just trying to help…

There was a woman absentmindedly picking at a couple of fried kwama eggs next to him in the bar, with puffy reddened eyes, that quickly glanced at them various times, hesitant to join in. Nelyn recognized her from the fight; she had been trembling in a corner.

-          Oh, hey there- I mean, good morning, sera. -he corrected himself, switching to the little Dunmeris he knew.  
-          Good morning – she said in a quiet voice-, I take that you two are adventurers, warriors, yes? I might have a… problem related to these so-called dreamers, and I’m too afraid to call in the guards, I don’t know what to do anymore.

Nelyn nodded enthusiastically, turning to fully face her, Julan also peered from Nelyn’s side.

-          Of course we can help! What’s wrong? Have you seen any other one around…?

She sniffed, slowly getting up from her seat, beckoning them outside.

-          I’d prefer that we talked about this somewhere else, these good mer have had enough of this.

 

 

Her name was Gindrala Hleran, an artisan that lived in a relatively nice part of Ald’ruhn. She’d taken them behind her house, where she now explained herself with closed arms, and a pained voice.

-          One day, a malnourished man in rags came to my hearth, asking for help and shelter… and I am a good Velothi, so I let him rest in my cellar, and have some of my food, for some days.

          He told me he had been imprisoned by some kind of cultists for days, abducted from his ash-farm by someone called Mamaea, or it could have been the name of the cult, or the place, as far as I know… He is rather tangled and strange for words, you see, so he tells me he was imprisoned, starved, and tortured, and I tell him to go to the Temple, but he says he has nothing to give in return, that he wouldn’t be welcome there at all… He convinced me, but I think he used magics on me.

She took a shaky deep breath, retrieving her handkerchief again, covering her face.

-          He has this statue that he said was a long-lost family heirloom, from the Ashlander side, that gives me chills and just feels… extremely wrong, as if it’s looking through me. Sometimes I hear whispers inside the house, around it, trying to speak to me, and then I black out and wake up in completely different places, sometimes covered in scratches.  
-          This does sound like one like the man in the inn…do you get strange dreams, nightmares as well?  
-          Yes, ever since that man came to my house – she nodded. Things got even worse after that, he would bring strangers to my house, to my cellar, and for some reason, I couldn’t react, or notice, I couldn’t tell him to stop; I just watched, listened to the chants, blacked out, but couldn’t understand… It’s all nonsense, about the sleepers awaking and the house reborn expelling n’wah. There’s a horrible smell coming from my cellar and… just… please, help me –she begged, despaired.

Nelyn and Julan looked at each other, wary but decisive, then he nodded.

-          We will take care of it, but first my companion here will notify the guards and we’ll get in our armor, alright?  
-          No, no, no –he dug her nails in Nelyn’s shoulders, almost hanging, like a child- you mustn’t let them know, they must stay out of this!

He gently took her hands off and stepped back, trying to sound as reassuring and calm as he could.

-          Sera, you are not guilty of anything you have done, or of harboring that man, you are under the effects of magic, and soul-sickness, I’ll make sure they don’t lay a finger on you, please don’t worry; we’re here to help.

Julan walked off to fetch a nearby guard, which approached Nelyn and Gindrala after receiving Julan’s report.

-          Is what the Ashlander telling me true? There is another of those “dreamers” inside this house?  
-          Not a good enough report to you ‘cause it’s in another dialect and given by the wrong kind of face, huh – he couldn’t bite it back-, and yes, there’s a Dreamer in this mer’s house-

Gindrala would have thrown herself to the guard’s feet, if Nelyn hadn’t held her in time.

-          Please, muthsera, have mercy on me! I didn’t know what I was doing or what would happen when I invited that man in! I didn’t know who he was! It was not my fault!  
-          Alright, alright –the guard grumbled-, I’ll bring backup. You lot hang on here, don’t move or do anything brash.

Which obviously meant they would do something brash first.

 

They descended to the main room; it was a modest house, not meant for more than a couple, with elaborated hand-made decorations over the blank mosaics and bonemold walls. The hearth was long unlit, the room was an absolute mess of broken belongings and scattered trash, worse than Caius’ little shack, and the smell was terrible, something like burnt and rotten flesh and sweat. Gindrala silently wept behind them at the door, covering her face in shame.

Something like a hum, a deep, constant tune came from beyond the cellar door in the cooking room, not proceeding from a humanoid throat, but rather, from the earth itself… it was a diffuse image, disorienting Nelyn, making his hairs rise. Julan struggled not to cough, covering his face with his scarf.

Nelyn was signaling Julan that he found the cellar, when they heard the front door slam and lock behind them. They exchanged panicked looks when everything seemed to go quiet, then Julan lifted the hand with the ring to signal him.

_Don’t worry, I can intervene us out, in any case. I left a mark before we went inside._

_Gods bless you dude, I almost fainted. Holy shit. What the hell are we doing_? _I’m_ _kinda freaking out here._

Julan reached out and shook him by the shoulder reassuringly, some manly-brotherly gesture that Nelyn to that day couldn’t understand how it was supposed to be comforting to most people. But he appreciated the gesture, and awkwardly nodded and patted him back.

They silently descended the stairs, and saw it all. Candles of all sizes, melted into humongous, unrecognizable clumps, and others still lit merged with a decomposing, bloated body, and at some ends and edges, strange flesh and wax was undistinguishable. Around it were placed offerings in the finest redware pots, the handiwork of the house owner; chunks of throbbing flesh, blood and other unknown liquids, in which food and trinkets were soaked. Nausea flooded both of them.

Four dunmer were sitting around the corpse –which, he now noticed, was also oozing something, throbbing, pulsating and _bloating_ -. Two had cicatrizing holes instead of eyes, torn and dried skin hanging from the edges, and most of them were deformed in some way or another. They were in rags or simply naked, looking at each other and moving their mouths and gesticulating, as if they were chatting amicably, but no noise came out of their mouths. This conversation was simply in another frequency, one Nelyn accidentally connected to.

Flashing images of all kinds of putrid, decomposing flesh flooded his mind, growing bigger than his own mind, swallowing him into all of it. He clawed at his head, screaming voicelessly, failing to ground himself as he felt he was suffocated and drowned. Like spears went through his mind and tore it apart and pulled at it, leaving his brains hanging outside like threads matting and melting into the meat around his. Then, something like a white flash, and felt the life around him.

He was part of a greater organism, an ultimate lifeform. He pulsated with the heartbeat of thousands, his flesh wasn’t his anymore, his throat could only sing the poisoned song, his eyes could only see the dreams of the Sharmat. He could hear those in that room happily discussing their plans for the afternoon, he could hear a single Dreamer praying a continent away, he could see the dreams thousands were dreaming, he felt hundreds speak through his tongue. A beat and rhythm, a hum passed through him, what was left of him scattered across the body of the Sharmat. This was his home now.

Then he was ripped away, returning to reality, and the time was stopped- the bulbous monster in the center had hurled some kind of fleshy tendril at their direction, the Dreamers ran towards them, Julan had raised his shield desperately without the proper posture, shouting.

And all Nelyn found in himself was to cover his eyes and scream at the top of his lungs, as strong as he could, as loud as it was possible. In a split second, he felt like his cheeks were torn apart, that his jawbone was loose, free, teeth bared, like in his chest was born a voice much powerful, deeper than his, that his torso cracked and his ribs split open, and a shrill scream came out of inside him. It was every wisp of will he had. 

Everything destabilized, everything trembled and shifted under his feet, reality vibrated like a glass about to break. _Far, far away from me, get away from us, get away from us, get out of me, get out of me._ Pulling Julan closer to him, and pushing the monsters away from them, banishing them into the nothingness; a basic instinct made reality.

When he was done, the only thing he could feel was blood pouring out of his nose and inside his throat before blacking out.


	5. Chapter 5

Thankfully, no dreams came to him, neither did beats or drums or anything of the sort, and completely unconsciousness was just blissful in his state. He slipped out of it lazily, trying to hold on to the familiar, calming nothingness, knowing that worse things awaited him outside.

A soft light lit the amber room he was in, and he spotted intricate black murals on a nearby wall. Almalexia was represented with thick dynamic lines, which were vague enough to not show any of her features but make it distinctly clear that it was her, surrounded by black swirls and rays that symbolized her magic. This was a healing room, and that meant they were safe and sound, away from that cellar. he guessed.

Faint memories of the events passed through his head, but they couldn’t feel as gruesome as the visions that the Dagoth connection had given him. His mind still felt like gravy and tar; Nelyn concluded two days in a row of pushing himself to the limit or being mentally invaded was not exactly healthy.

He slowly came back to his senses, became more aware of his body again; judging how oddly refreshed he felt, some healer showered him in magic just in case, but that didn’t make him any less mentally exhausted. At most, he was wasting a bed by being there, and he needed to find out what happened. He carefully sat up, to avoid getting dizzy and he saw next to him, in a neighboring bedroll, Julan curled up taking a nap, still partially in his armor. He looked pretty cute asleep like that, too.

Somehow, he still felt on the flesh the connection, never had he seen something so twisted and revolting before in such a manner. He had connected with the Kynesgrove on a similar spiritual level before, as he was a keeper of that forest, and it was a similar feeling of belonging to something greater, of losing autonomy, of finding comfort with that organic oneness; there, he could feel intruders, feel fires burning his flesh, see where the spriggans roamed, see through the eyes of hawks and wisps. However, it was radically different from the Dagoth hive.

It was obvious to him; nothing that was capable of violating the mind, nullifying will, and that twisted and absorbed its living components was benign. There were people trapped there, deprived of their minds, others willingly enjoying the golden dreams of feasts and promises of greatness, authentically believing they would bring order into the world; it was absolute madness, this was a soul-sickness, this was inherently wrong and unnatural... The people of Vvardenfell were right when they called Dagoth Ur a Sharmat.

He clutched the edges of the bed. For the first time, he had been shown a true glimpse of what this mission he was getting into really meant, just a taste of the horrors to come, beyond the shiny prophecies, promises of glory and nostalgic storytelling that had tempted him so far.

How, how would he and Julan ever topple a self-made god that could create pests and diseases, that was synchronized and shared a mind with all his subjects? This was just insane.

Not for the first time, but now for the right reasons, Nelyn was terrified.

 

* * *

 

Watch Captain Dralsea hunched over a desk, resting her head in one hand. Looking through her mess of papers and scrolls with glassy eyes, she seemed uncharacteristically vulnerable and frail for someone who put Ashlander camps to death with three words and held a whole city together for two hundred years straight. Her ebony hand was the reason why no slums existed in Ald’ruhn; she just got beggars and thieves killed, and whatever excuse she could muster was appropriate; caught stealing, looked suspicious… She was the Guard Captain of Ald’ruhn, noble member of House Redoran, gold among rubble, and she didn’t notice the not only one, but two Sixth House shrines under her nose.

A failure of hers was triple the failure of her underlings, so the guards around her looked down, awaiting a scolding and worse. Nelyn and Julan, however, held their head high, alarmed enough about the current situation to get over their usual fear of dealing with authorities.

-          How did you kill them? The Dagoth, I’ve been told the scene is a mess, but they couldn’t tell the original mess from the mess you two did.

-          I was the one who did it, but I had an attack and passed out; I don’t know what I did it just… happened.

-          He made them explode with magic – Julan clarified-, or something of the sort… we all just started hovering and everything... shifted around us while he screamed, I thought I was going to get caught in it as well, but, here I am.

Dralsea looked up, raising a single perfect eyebrow perfectly without moving any other muscle. It was unnerving. It could be either a skeptical reaction to the explanation, or Julan’s accent, or perhaps how Julan referred to Nelyn, it’s impossible to know with the conservative types. She was blunt talking, with a hoarse but powerful voice; it was obvious she had forgotten how it was like to interact with people outside a hierarchy, and it was like she had breathed in much more ash than anybody else. Some faint rumors said she was actually Ashlander in some degree, before they were conveniently silenced by both Ashlanders and by people who could decide what is said or not; in any case, whether she was Velothi or not, the Velothi blood in her hands would have made her an outcast a thousand times over.

-          I never heard of magic like that, but well, you did the job. I will reward you, but listen to me, you will not say a single word about this incident, got it?

Nelyn pressed his lips into a line as he received the pouch. Of course he would talk, but they needed the coin desperately.

-          We have worse news besides this, actually; it’s very likely there will be a Sixth House attack today here.  
-          Almsivi protect us… – she breathed, making the triangle symbol with her index fingers over her collarbone, looking like she had just ran a versta, and the guards imitated her.- How can you know? How are you so sure!?  
-          The Dreamer in the Inn said there was going to be an attack very soon, and I… -Nelyn hesitated to bring up the hive-mind stuff, fearing it would make it seem fake- listened to their conversations; a group of unknown number will come today, from a cave called Mamaea.

Her eyes went wide.

-          We had sent two scouts over there in the last six months, and they never returned, did they!? – she shot a glare at her guards.  
-          No, serjo; Lerano and Serevyn never returned, we also sent an Ashlander called Hannat Zainsubani with them, he volunteered because he knew the zone… -mumbled one of them.

A shadow passed over Nelyn and Julan’s faces. _Hassour’s son! Shani’s cousin!_

-          You s’wits! That Ashlander was probably Sixth House, and he probably locked them up there! –she roared, slamming her bonemold fist on the table. Julan tensed, and Nelyn grabbed his arm in precaution.

There was a horrible silence, and then Dralsea returned to her seat, not before shooting a fire glare to each guard.

-          Very well, we will tell people to stay in their homes and not come out for the rest of the day, and patrol the city with all the mer we have until dawn. You two better not be pulling some kind of prank on me, or you’ll regret it – she said through clenched teeth.  
-          We are not making this up – Nelyn bowed his head in thanks, Julan didn’t-, and if it’s possible, may I request permission to do a thing?

 

* * *

 

 

The milky-eyed Dreamer from the cornerclub hunched in a corner, humming, completely ignoring all that happened around him. For him, it was alright being locked up; darkness and tight spaces meant less noise, less distractions, and more songs, and better, it reminded him of the cave where he was reborn.

-          Are you sure you want to be left alone with this… thing, sera?  
-          This is still a person, you know I’m trying to find a way to solve this mess… you go help the others with the reinforcement efforts, there are more important things to do!

Those voices echoed across the cells, disrupting the right tones he was working hard to achieve. He spat on the floor, annoyed, scratching himself on the shoulders rhythmically, to concentrate again. His siblings in flesh were telling the greatest thing, now, but an annoying outsider was trying to get his attention; people just can’t respect privacy these days.

-          Hello there, do you remember who you are?

He turned slightly, just to look at this one in the corner of his eye.

-          Of course I know who I am! I am a herald of the Sixth House, haver of dreams, another prophet of the ash! – he stood up suddenly, flowing with the channeled energy of everyone in his House- What I was before does not matter again; I was proudly reborn from fire and ash, awakened from a deep slumber, in the depths of Mamaea, ready to return my house to glory!

The outsider tapped the outlander’s shoulder, whispering while looking at him, thinking he could not hear him.

-          This one speaks but doesn’t speak, like the ones in the cellar…  
-          Then, we are not hearing him in the right place.

The face of the outlander mangled into some sort of expression the Dreamer simply couldn’t process anymore; why bother about masks and appearances, why remember that useless code when you can feel their emotions fluttering in your own flesh? Unfortunately, that meant he couldn’t quite interact with outsiders or understand them anymore.

He, however, didn’t expect something like a searing white hook taking him by the forehead. Foreign, entirely separated from him –unlike his house- attempting to connect with him, entering places and barging into forbidden territory, until the connection tensed and stabilized. He fell to his knees, holding his head, crying out.

Fear had been unknown to him since joining the house and now he felt like an abandoned child. The warmth of his tribe was shut down to him, breaking their permanent embrace; he was ripped from them like an infection, left floating in the dark.

In front of him materialized the outlander. If he hadn’t been so weak and distraught, he would have attacked, taken revenge.

-          Hello? Are you there? Who are you?  
-          What did you do, you n’wah scum!? Why did you take everything I knew away from me? Why leave me bare and lonely like this?  
-          Because that isn’t you, you are being manipulated, poisoned by the Sixth House; you can still return to normal life, you can still wake up! Remember your life!  
-          What are you talking about? I have no life outside my house, I am a house, and I need to return!

The outlander tried to speak, but his voice got diffused and faded away, along with his physical form. Flesh flooded around him as that one disappeared, and the Dreamer welcomed his siblings back with glad tears.

* * *

 

-          I couldn’t hold them back or keep blocking them out– Nelyn panted, trying to stop his nosebleed with a trembling gloved hand-, it’s just too strong, they would have gotten inside me again…

The Dreamer started singing something horrible and dissonant. Julan held Nelyn to not let him fall, worried. He looked at the bright side; at least exposure to these horrible things would make him eventually less petrified and, maybe someday, face it with resigned tiredness. It was an unrealistic idea, though.

-          You should try to do it one day where you aren’t exhausted! You’re going to overdo it, and we need you here…  
-          I’m not really sure I’ll be remotely helpful in battle in this state, I’m just braindead at this point –he nervously giggled.

Nelyn wrapped his arm around Julan’s shoulders, pretending to be more tired than he was. Honestly, he just needed some hugs.

-          Let’s go buy potions, I’ll need one of those Rally ones again or I’ll faint and die once they come here…

 

 

They managed to convince the alchemist to give them a couple of Rally potions, and a brew that would supposedly make Nelyn feel better, after exhorting him for a bit about how dire the current circumstances were and a little tip. Now, they sat on a high pathway in Ald-Skar, their legs dangling, ignoring the people running around them.

The chitinous gates would be closed as soon as the alert was given, and for now, people ran about, panicking and getting to safety. All silt striders were full and gone already. Authorities originally ordered everyone to just lock themselves in their houses, but Nelyn persuaded them indirectly by telling the populace about the real situation; now, nobody was stoked to be left out of Ald-Skar while mutated ash monsters came down to wreak havoc, and the Redoran nobles had to comply and allow even the rabble inside.

Nelyn was doubted at first, but the discovery of two Dagoth shrines with corprus creatures in the city, and the previous Dreamer announcements about some ominous “they” coming inside left little room to do so, besides, popular panic about the Blight blowing it out even more out of proportion certainly helped. So, the two heroes were sitting there with lost eyes, as people panicked and rushed around them, oddly resigned as they drank tea. Resigned did not mean uncaring, but rather detached from themselves, unbelieving of the amount of disaster in a single day. And dusk wasn’t even near yet.

Nelyn wasn’t trembling anymore, but worry weighed on him. Worse, he was having all kinds of shameful thoughts about escaping and fears worthy of a coward, which felt like a knot in his throat. Trying to swallow it all with tea wasn’t really doing it, but saying it out loud felt as difficult.

-          You know, I’m actually really scared…  
-          Who knows, maybe it turns out to be only a couple of those weirdos, and everything will be fine…

It was hard to believe that himself, surrounded by such despair, and it was a stupid thing to say when his friend was trying to open up, which was uncommon already. Julan shook his head.

-          Bah, I mean… I’m scared, too – he muttered-. I’ve never done anything like this before---I never imagined anything like this would happen.  
-          Yeah, Dagoth Ur felt distant until today, didn’t he? Felt like some crazy old as balls wizard with a couple of weird followers. We can’t opt out of this now, can’t we…?

Julan looked forward firmly, that familiar shadow of determination passing through his face that made him look older than he was, so similar to Nelyn’s. Determination that most of the time led to disaster.

-          I’ll respect it if you do, but I won’t move; this is my destiny.

_duty, destiny… are they more important than your safety, than your wellbeing? vou are much, much more than a mission, you come first before all of that, your life matters more than…_

In any case, they were both guilty of the same stubbornness, foolish determination that led them to unnecessary danger, and Nelyn was aware of his hypocrisy; it was alright when they were both submerged into that same rush, but being sobered and aware the other one was going to do something dangerous led to excruciating worry.

-          I’m not going anywhere, either. I’m scared outta my wits -he admitted-, but at least we got each other’s backs, right?  
-          Right!

Julan lifted his arm, about to do another manly, reassuring gesture of shoulder-grasping, but Nelyn hugged him instead. Awkwardly twisted, so only his arms and shoulder were in contact with him, which was very characteristic of him. He hesitated, before respectfully hugging him back.

Of course Julan was the one to start the awkward back-patting, ancient signal of manly discomfort.

-          We should head out and stay on guard, shouldn’t we?

Nelyn slowly pulled away, more calm.

-          Alright, you better not do anything stupid.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Nothing but ash and the heat vibrating off it could be seen in the distance, as it was usual, but there was nothing usual about expecting a Sixth House attack. Such lack of movement and life was unnerving; staring off the nothingness used to be something to soothe his overloaded senses, a respite from patronizing people and busy, narrow markets. He didn’t really know whether to wish they appeared already, or keep praying nothing happened. It’d be worse for everyone to face the monsters in the dark.

The guard lent them missing pieces of vital armor; cushioned gauntlets and helmets to reduce contact and possible infection, not like it was proven that it would actually help. A luxury they wouldn’t afford in most circumstances; all they had was ill-fitting random pieces of armor they had found that only fit Julan, and a commissioned boiled netch cuirass Nelyn managed to save up for. Bonemold was amazing, sturdy, and not as heavy as the iron he had worn back home, but the strange and elongated shape of the helmet disrupted his natural balance.

\- Maybe we should keep these, as historical retribution for the crimes of the guard! – Julan played with his helmet, shutting and opening the visor.

\- Don’t you think we’d get kind of arrested over it? Impersonating the guard and all of that.

\- Well, we have done their jobs lately, and saw some horrible things while they took roadside patrol naps, I’m sure we do deserve some kind of unique reward!

\- Letting in monsters and possessed people in my head… should’ve given us a damn bug house for the trouble! Back home, we do that sort of stuff to hero types, even to outlanders, -he paced around-, we give them farms, give land... that is, if they manage to keep them from the bandits and raiders, it’s a nice, smooth way to get rid of lowlifers, or annoying outsiders.

-And here I thought we Dunmer were the terrible, dishonest and double-intentioned ones! Just wondering, to us, are you a hero here, or an annoying outsider?

Nelyn lifted a finger, clicking his tongue repeatedly.

\- The difference is, you lot are openly hostile and petty, we are just smartly benevolent in a way that benefits us in the long run. And I’m sure if I got a house here, I’d have the Morakh-Ton at my hearth in three days time, so let’s safely assume I’d be the annoying murderable outsider.

\- It´s “Morag Tong”, actually, with a geth on both ends -he corrected, with a face like that was really painful to hear,which made Nelyn snicker.

He proceeded to further mangling the word in the most exaggerated ways he could muster, grinning, anything to exasperate Julan, and to get a break from the threats looming in the horizon. Having gone through so much stuff, they always seemed tone-deaf, detached and out of place to others, but they were always in tune with each other. Without terrible jokes, without teasing, without random cultural-information-dumping, wouldn’t adventuring into stupidly dangerous prophetic territory be absolutely unbearable?

They sure looked dumb marveling at bonemold, as the dirt-poor commoners they are, and they surely looked terribly inappropriate drinking tea empty-eyed as people panicked about, and particularly, they had trouble caring about it.        

It was almost dusk; nothing interrupted them, no monsters came, no guards gave any alerts. Nelyn struggled to stay awake once the conversation died out and after they got bored of patrolling, softly rocking back and forth while sitting, closing his eyes more often and for longer. He gave in to tiredness, telling himself that a tiny nap would let him stay on guard the whole night, and as a way to shut down the vivid recent memories creeping by as well. Of course, that wouldn’t work.

Once they discovered they really didn’t have the strength in them to stay up and fight efficiently (after some convincing from both sides to just stop with the whole heroic martyrdom thing and take a rest), they started returning to Ald Skar in the dark. Considered they almost got impaled at long distance by the guards, it wasn’t a good idea to assume they would recognize them right away. That woke him up fully.

As it turned out, something had happened, guards rushed about and gave explanations to very expensively dressed and stressed mer. The guard captain stood there as well, pale and wide-eyed, tensing every muscle in her face as much as possible, only breaking the unnatural stillness to bark at her underlings and to apologize profusely to the noblemer. They were intercepted by a guard before they could approach the scene.

\- If I were you two, I wouldn’t get close; some monsters came from the northeast and broke into Serjo Morvayn’s manor… We managed to barricade them in, but they killed a guard and someone else who was in the manor. Serjo Morvayn is nowhere to be found, either, I'm afraid.

Nelyn cursed to himself. _How in earth didn’t we hear all of that!?_ The shouting, the nervous bickering, the tension in the air nagged at him, and not being shut down and detached anymore, it was overwhelming, like suffocating. Still scenes of the cellar started flashing in Nelyn's mind again, as he couldn't help it. He covered his ears on reflex.

\- Is there anything we can do to help? What’s the plan? - Julan asked, alarmed.

Julan's voice annoyed him, the guard was also much more annoying. His insides felt rotten, like the tangy traces of the connection were still there and he couldn't scrub them off fully at all, a constant reminded that he was invaded. Twice, in two days, one of his major fears. His face contorted as scratched his head frantically, and the guard gave him a weird look, then returned to Julan, kind of wordlessly asking what was wrong with him for a second.

\- Anyway, for now, some of us will watch over that and make sure no one escapes, as for what we do with them… –he shrugged- I don’t know what´s going to happen, no one wants to risk a Blight outbreak or losing more guardmer, so maybe we’ll just leave them locked up there until they die… hopefully, those things can die of hunger.

That struck a nerve, and Nelyn opened his eyes again.

\- For real, are you considering to leave them just there!? - he was unreasonably upset, almost yelling and gesticulating frantically- How is that even safe for anyone!? What about the bodies inside, don’t you want your dead back and uncorrupted? Those things have no mind of their own, eating corpse flesh is probably something they don’t mind doing out of hunger or boredom!

- By the Three, don’t make me imagine such cursed blasphemy! -he quickly made the tribunal hand sign, cringing- If you have a problem and want to commit suicide by getting mauled to death by monsters, go yell that at the Captain, not at me.

The guard stomped back to the chaos that was the guard bulwark again.

\- It's surprising he didn't lay a finger on you for saying that -Julan said quietly- usually, they don’t hesitate to beat me up if I don't reply properly to their "questions"... You should be more careful.

\- You know why, either the crazy woman bit or the I'm not an Ashlander bit -he scoffed-. Bah, whatever, let's go to sleep.

\- What about the manor?

Nelyn pointed vaguely at the stars and the moons, starting to walk back to Ald-Skar again.

- They're handling it. I'm tired as hell, and if I do any more magic I'm gonna pop an eye out. You heard him, they're not going to do anything about it for now, and we better have backup to kill them so yeah, no. Let's go.

Upset and on the edge again, it was like every word he heard was like needles digging into his temples. Guilt weighed on him; he should do something, but he was afraid and useless most of all, and that made him ashamed and doubly angry. Paranoia that he somehow caught a Blight disease was also driving him mad, as well as thoughts that gnawed at him.

He could just feel Julan's disappointment, unvoiced accusations picking at him behind him as he led the both of them to their original spot, walking over the tons of families who were sitting, waiting, mostly unaware of what was happening outside. He couldn't really help any of them, he barely did anything to protect them, and now he couldn't deal with the problem because he was too weak and sleepy.

 

 

Inside his bedroll, feeling vulnerable cramped in a hallway with other people and his mind boiling, sleeping was impossible. A baby was crying in a room nearby, and the steps of the mother attempting to lull it to sleep could also be heard. It vaguely reminded him of those times where he slept alongside his fellow witches almost piled up on each other, in a borrowed hall or room, and his friends with children usually ended up ruining everyone's peaceful sleep; incomprehensible little creatures, that somehow slept through drinking and shouting still on their parent's arms, but the moment everyone passes out they suddenly get hungry. The memory and parallels didn't comfort him or calm his mind, just made the estrangement and loneliness feel deeper.

Everyone else seemed to be asleep, or at least pretend to be. It didn't make him feel any safer, regardless. Who knew, maybe there was another Sleeper, having Dagoth dreams in an improvised blanket nest, who would cut their throats as they slept, or an organized attack would break loose while the guard was distracted with a manor…

Julan, who had been also pretending to be asleep, turned to face him, startling him. He had that fiery gleam in his eyes that almost always meant trouble and a headache for him; whatever that was about to come up that moment, a slap was better than it.

\- What if we go to Mamaea tomorrow? - seeing Nelyn cringing, he rose up a bit to be at his level- I don't think the invasions will end here, and maybe we'll take them by surprise…

\- No - he said through clenched teeth, sinking deeper into his bedroll. Again with that pitiful voice he hated so much, and again he was vulnerable, subject to disappointment; he wondered which he hated most.

\- I'm not saying we should go into a ruin for fun, there's actual people in danger here, Shani's cousin is there too! I just can't rest easy knowing that… you didn't think twice or shy away when you had _that_ opportunity at the Council Club, Nelyn, what's going on with you now?

Nelyn kept staring away in silence, much like an offended cat, so Julan desisted, curling up in his furs again, annoyed.

\- Well, it doesn't matter, I'll go on my own tomorrow, this is my mission after all, not yours, shouldn't drag you into it - he muttered.- It's not like you could care about Hassour, you don't know him after all.

\- I'm not a coward and I'm not stupid -he blurted-, no matter what you think. Yes, I'm pathetic but none of this is my fault! And you wanting to play hero doesn't make you any better than me!

Someone told them to be quiet. He didn't bother to turn to face him.

\- I didn't say any of that, no one is calling you a coward, stupid or pathetic now… Most importantly, I'm rescuing a _friend_ , not playing hero. Don't throw a tantrum on me, I said it's alright if you don't want to come. I get it, you had a few rough, horrible days and you're having trouble wording yourself, but please don't say anything else.

\- Don't you dare think I'm chickening out of this just because I want to, that I can ignore suffering around me like I don’t care!

He stopped himself, trying to control the frantic speech coming up in his head, molding it into a quieter, more concise form.

\- You didn't have those… _things_ stuck in your head, you didn't pass out like thrice in two days. You are immune to all of this, and I'm not, you're good at swords and I'm not… Do you think I like being like this on purpose? It's shameful, it's shameful that I don't have control over this, I'm not strong enough and I'll probably pass out again, and I'm scared to hell and back, but I am surely not going to let you do suicidally insane things, at least alone.

\- Shut up you two! Some of us are trying to sleep here!

Once Nelyn is on a roll, the complaints of some old woman become irrelevant. Julan sighed exasperatedly, sitting up.

\- What are you on about… I am not immune to any of what happened, I didn't have a great time either! Do you think I'm looking forward to sleeping and seeing all those horrible things all night long in my dreams? You're not the only one having a bad time and being afraid here, and I'm not "stronger" than you, I just try to keep it quiet so you don't freak out even worse. I said I don't need you to come.

\- …You know what, forget what I said, I'll get my potions and be useful there. And this is my path and mission too, in a way, maybe this is another way I'm being tested… more likely, pushed to the edge it seems. You shouldn't do this alone anyway, and I ask you one thing, what if we get rid of the ones at the Morvayn Manor first? It's a start, maybe we can get some gold out of that too.

He was aware he was simply winding himself up, pushing himself from fear into determination; his strange light-hearted tone, almost excited gave it away. The illusion would all fall apart once he was there of course, facing the actual danger and forgetting all the things he used to psych himself up, and that's where the potions would come to save him. He feared losing control and overexerting himself like in the cellar again; these situations made him miss his staff more and more.                              

He missed having conscious control over his magic, he missed being able to use it as before, and of course he missed the staff out of attachment. Overall, he wanted to take over things, to have his life under control again, which under his circumstances, was almost impossible. Maybe if he kept fooling himself he was taking these choices -and good, noble ones at that- on his own will, that he was building his life as he wanted, that he was stepping over his boundaries and forcing himself for something worthwhile and necessary, he could still keep the fear and the clunky, useless shutting down sessions low. If he ever ran out of illusions, everything would fall apart.

\- Nelyn, you don't really want to go, you're just riling yourself up. Listen, any other time you opting out and throwing a self-pity fit would've been fine, but this is my family we're talking about, not some monster-killing for fun. This isn't something to leave for later when you're "prepared", or something to refuse like a spoiled brat, if it were one of your friends I bet you'd jump head first, and I'd help you out, but apparently, I can't expect that from you.

\- I am trying here, I am trying to make it right here - he said quietly, in a defeated voice-, I know I didn't say the right things, but I swear I didn't want to say that. Of course I want to help you I just- I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me.

\- And now you're contradicting yourself from five minutes ago. Goddamn, one moment you sound absolutely helpless and the other you're trying to swallow the entire world!

\- I'm weak but I try, and I try really hard to overcome that but sometimes I just… slip. And I was clouded in the head, of course I was gonna screw up.

\- See? You can't stop excusing yourself. Let me mirror the same advice you gave me a couple of days ago, because you don't seem to be following it yourself; make up for it, with actions and not words, and especially not self-pity. Compromise, have some responsibility, leave your own hurt feelings aside and stop making it only about yourself. Now go to sleep, stop making it worse, and in the morning let me know if you're coming.

Nelyn nodded, and attempted to sleep with a lump in his throat.


	7. Chapter 7

While fighting them in a group of trained guards, corprus monsters did not seem so terrible or scary. One was quite pitiful, clumsily and slowly walking while their spears stabbed them. Nelyn barely actively attacked, but rather, used his mind's eye more than anything, poking at their minds, trying to reach out and make them reason, or trying to tug them away from the Dagoth dream; it only stunned the creatures, which was favorable for bloodshed, but it was not what Nelyn was aiming for. And also, he could get to observe the creatures, see what they were weak to, predict their repetitive behaviors and notice lack of self-preservation and pain, how they were ignorant of the simplest of traps -one was simply trapped in a room because they couldn't turn a doorknob- and knowledge meant surviving these encounters better later on.

One of the most bloated and affected ones was a Nord, disfigured worse than any blighted Dunmer he had seen. For a second, he wondered which one he would take after when he caught blight, before banishing that horrible thought.

It all seemed reasonably tolerable until a scrawny one crept up on him and almost attacked from behind, if Nelyn hadn't heard them coming in enough time to make a strong repulsion shield. He managed to bury his axe on their neck quite effectively despite screaming and freaking out at the same time. Even if he was the last one, because he could sense it, he spent the rest of the time in that house shivering with chattering teeth, annoying the guards., very much aware of the spatters of tainted blood on him.

They soon discovered Nelyn had been right, to their horror; Serjo Morvayn had been eaten and had all kinds of things done to his remains. A Tribunal priest had been called to deal with the remains and turn them to ash as quickly as possible, and they were asked to leave.

On the cellar, there was a strange statue and a makeshift shrine around it, and Nelyn knew he found what he was looking for.

 

* * *

 

Despite that most of the acolytes and priests went into Ald Skar for both protection and offering solace to the people, a couple still lingered in the temple, burning incense and quietly praying. Nelyn felt like he contaminated the place with his sole presence, still in his borrowed dirty armor, hastily cleaned axe in belt, normally, this would be greatly offensive, but the situation obliged. At least, he took off his boots, it's the least he could do. He had never willingly entered a temple for any reason but curiosity before.

Religious places usually had a calming effect on him, but knowing he was holding something that could make him soul-sick, only separated from his skin by cloth, kept him trembling. He could hear the whispers, still.

The praying stopped. Unsure where to go, he walked to the center of the room, observing the carved murals, the great ash pit and pyramid-shapes shrines. The designs still intrigued him; dunmer seemed to favor black thick lines, depicted imprecisely drawn gods with those, and saints and places he still could not recognize, and he could not tell the writing from the decoration. These were like the halls of stories at Nordic temples, but these carvings and drawings were mute to him, or more likely, spoke so much that it was impossible to decipher the meaning behind. Diving into irrelevant details for distraction was what came naturally to him.

A wary acolyte walked in from one of the adjacent rooms, returning his attention to the matter in hand.

\- The Three welcome you, is there anything I can help you with? Are you with the guard?

Nelyn raised the sack, opening his mouth, but in his distress he had forgotten to think through what to say. And worse, for some reason, something in his brain switched in the wrong way and he started babbling in Dunmeris instead.

\- …I-I don't know, I think I am? I need help with this thing here, this… thing, it's cursed. And I think I might have… sick.

 _Замечательно, молодец! Почему ты решил, что это идеальное времени чтобы практиковать дунмерский!? Дурак_ _._ He straightened himself out as much as he could and started again, otherwise the acolyte, who was giving him an odd look, would think he was another raving corprus victim. He hoped he wasn't one.

\- I got this idol-thing, from the Morvayn Manor; it's poisoned, with the Sixth house, or something -he stuttered-. We went inside, got rid of them, and I need help, I need to know if I might have…

The acolyte looked alarmed, which gave away that they weren't really a healer. The ones at Ghostgate and across the Ashlands were impassive at the mention of corprus and Blight, their expressions only hardened and did what they had to do. Nelyn was guided to the same room he had woken up inside, a day ago, where another priest was sitting.

\- Master, this one fought Blighted monsters and could be sick.

-Come here, let me get a look at you… Were you wounded? Only hit, then? Very well. Take off your gloves and bracers, I need to see if you have skin-blight, but since there's none in your face, it'd be rare. Stick your tongue out. Alright, what are you called?... No, please do that again with your tongue inside your mouth. Tell me what you were doing yesterday.

\- Um, I went into a Dagoth infected cellar, passed out, talked to the guard captain, attempted to do patrol, went to sleep…

\- Well, you seem very much alright and healthy- she patted him on the shoulders-, you should know, corprus victims become monstrous very fast and lose their minds even quicker; if you were infected, you'd be raving about songs and oneness long ago already. Now, what's this about poisoned idols? Do you have an Ash statue?

Nelyn picked up the enveloped statue from the floor cautiously, with the least amount of fingers involved, and started to uncover it. Just holding it made his skin crawl.

\- This thing was in the Morvayn Manor, in a makeshift Dagoth shrine. I don't know how to explain this, but it's cursed, I think it lures Dagoth monsters, or maybe even turns people into them… I can hear whispers coming from this, can you too? Do you know some way to destroy it, properly?

\- Yes, we have seen a couple already, and we know how to purify them. Have you shown this to the guard? This is evidence. - she gave him a questioning look, no doubt thinking he was trying to cover someone up.

\- Yeah, and that's why I think I need to get away from here as soon as I can, I've seen too much lately - he grimaced.

The priest seemed to reach for the statue and he almost put it in her hands, but to his surprise, it levitated off his hands and hovered between hers.

\- Maybe this is out of place, but, can I learn this ritual, please? Because I'm going to keep running into these hives and statues. I'm a mysticist, so I know how to expel daedric contamination and stuff, but this is new to me.

 

\- Ah, really? You didn't seem the type to do magic. By the way, we are told to not teach this ritual to anyone because the existence and nature of these statues is supposed to be kept a secret, but I highly value it being useful and potentially saving lives, so you say you didn't learn it from me. Follow me.

 

-

 

The ash was placed in the middle of a triangle, drawn with ash and salt on a leather mat. They sat in front of each other, the priest neatly on her knees, barely wrinkling her robe, while he looked like a mess.

\- You were neither born or initiated into the Temple, so learning the exact chants, ritual or the mechanisms we use is going to be absolutely useless to you.

Nelyn raised his eyebrows. He knew he was clocked as an outsider immediately, but he liked to not be reminded of it all the time, or have assumptions done about him.

\- I'll tell you how to do it. We use Faith, our ancestors, or power we borrow from the Three and their servants to do the ritual, -she explained- but you can use your gods, your own will, although that's more difficult, or whichever. This is fundamentally the same as any purification ritual.

She put her hands surrounding the statue, and some kind of energy field covered it. The magic deciphered and uncovered the mechanisms behind it, making its threads and inner miasma possible, or perhaps since he wasn't on edge anymore, he could concentrate enough to notice them.

\- You can see the connections, yes? This is what we need to sever and cauterize; without feedback from the outside, the statue eventually runs out of corruptive power. However, it's not enough, after that, we destroy the statue, since they can reestablish these connections once they notice. Can you guess why we don't just smash it?

\- Because they would notice, and know who smashed it?  

\- Eh, not exactly, they can see who is toying around with their statue, because by coming into contact with it in any way, you risk being sucked in. We make it useless first, because otherwise we find ourselves in a toxic cloud of blight or other nasty substances coming out of it.

\- Maybe sharing this all in front of the statue is not smart, then. - he pointed out, nervous.

\- Child, do you think I'm just wrapping it in a pretty light for no reason? I'm isolating and blinding it so neither of us goes insane. Ash statues are capable of self-defense, one of my acolytes lost his mind for some minutes while we were treating one of our first ash statues.

\- How do you do that? I tried to do something similar to the mind of a blighted person, recently, they were clear for some seconds, but the Dagoth pressed back.

\- The mind of a person and an object are very different things to deal with, and corrupted minds are thousands of times more dangerous to your own than these things. Nobody has ever successfully detached someone from the Dagoth soul-sickness, not powerful mabrigashot or our best soul-menders, or attempted without receiving harm, so I would advice to never attempt to contact mentally the soul-sick again. Now, put your palms in here, I'll let you try.

He hesitated, and cautiously put his slightly shaky hands in front of hers.

\- You said you isolated someone's mind from sickness, so imagine that the mind of that person is inside there; you should do just the same thing you did last time. Don't worry, I'm not going to leave it all to you, I'll guide you and jump in if something goes wrong, but I'm sure you'll get it right.

Nelyn closed his eyes, focusing.

_isolate? I didn't isolate, I… protected, I shielded, I took that in my arms and sheltered it from the taint. I put space between us and that raving madness, I offered peace and quiet._

\- Good, very good. Keep holding that, and when you're ready, start cutting off the connections properly.

_this couldn't be an embrace, however, in his mind, he felt how he enveloped a restless, hungry energy. he pushed the fear out of the margins of his mind; this was like carrying a pot with hot oil, it was not the moment to have any doubts, only walk and breathe._

_his presence kept it from contacting the outside, but how could he plug those leaks once he receded? how could he soothe the energy inside so it would stop trying to reach out, so it would repel everything that tried to reach it? but reasoning with the energy was impossible; it'd drag him into its madness._

_as he drew away, he built walls were he had been. he replaced warmth with a firm order, with a threat, with his imposed will. he left his mark, his imprint, thorns so anything that tried to breach it was unable to pass. much like the walls around his own mind, but it felt strange to build them outside of himself._

\- Excellent, now it's time to destroy it, can you do it or do you need help?

\- Let me, I have an idea.

He opened his eyes, to see the reddish glow from the statue waning and the air clear of the previous turbulence. Never had he had that control over his magic or done something so complex voluntarily and consciously ever since losing his staff, the success filled him with xcitement. Between his hands, the statue hovered smoothly, something he had never achieved before.

_I make a shield around it, the same kind I use to protect myself, but I turn it inside out; now it protects the outside from it. And now it closes on it, getting tight and tighter-oh shit._

The shield burst from the pressure and the statue fell to the mat. The priest quickly pulverized it with a a gesture and a clench of her fist.

\- You did pretty well for a first timer! I would advise to carry a good hammer with you from now and on, though. It's funny, this made me realize the rough version is much easier than the Almsivi-honoring way, and you get to save so much on candles and incense…

\- That's the perks of heresy! - the priest found his comment amusing, thankfully- But dumb jokes that could get me arrested on Vivec aside, thank you so much for teaching me! I have some poultices and herbs to donate in exchange, let me fetch them. - he quickly got up on his feet, energized.

\- We prefer the herbs, thank you… We have some bad history with poultices and home-brewed remedies. One last thing before you leave, what did you try to do to destroy the statue? It was curious, I had never seen someone attempt to use Alteration for destructive purposes.

He stopped rummaging through his pouches briefly, that word sounded so nice but seemed so redundant; _a school of magic that alters, that sounds so universal, what kind of magic doesn't do that?_

\- Alteration, huh? Dunno what that is, but I'm a man of unconventional and unnecessarily difficult approaches after all, so I wouldn't be surprised if I got it all backwards.

 

* * *

 

Julan waited for him outside, hands in the sleeves of his weathered netch cuirass while he walked around, kicking pebbles. He kept to his word, to avoid setting foot on a Temple unless it was something beyond him, like an emergency. The heavy entrance opened, and his companion came out looking victorious.

\- So, how did it go?

Nelyn smiled while walking towards him, putting his hands up, like he was tickling the air.

\- Gone forever, and I know how to deal with them now! We can now cleanse that horrible place properly, both from monsters and from taint, this old lady taught me how in exchange for herbs. You all stocked up?

\- Yep, managed to sneak in my bag those glove-gauntlets the guard gave us -he flashed them from his bag, smiling smugly-, and haggled some nice goggles for your delicate eyes and some supplies for the way. Spending that bitch-whore's money on myself after so many times of her guards beating me up or taking me away for no reason is so satisfying, ah…

\- Hey, I hate her too, but don't call her a bitch-whore! Geez, that's the worst insult you Dunmer have and throw it around too lightly, and why is it only for women? No, don't explain why, I still want to call Caius a bitch-whore of the storm heartily in the face, once the time comes, and if you explain to me why it wouldn't work, it'll lose the cursing magic!

\- Alright, alright, I won't spoil your vengeance or disrespect any more mass-exterminating women with bad words, so… - he sobered up, asking slowly- Are you going to come with me now?

Nelyn nodded, determination gleaming in his eyes. Now he had tools, he had understanding, and was more ready than ever to make up for his mistakes.

\- Let's go.


End file.
